


Untitled Drabbles

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-23
Updated: 2006-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: The usual plus cutesy and schmoopy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**untitled drabbles.**  
SPN. Sam/Dean, PG to R. 150 to 250 words each, 850 words total. Warnings for incest and some language. The usual plus cutesy and schmoopy. Basically, [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/)**la_folle_allure** was like, "OMG I want fic like _this_!" and gave me a premise. And then she kept tossing out little prompts and I drabbled. And so now we have a drabble 'verse.  
  
  
**Premise:** Dean's hands are injured and Sam has to take care of him. And all that that entails.  
  
  
**Prompt: Sam has to shave Dean.**  
  
"Swear to god, Sammy, you cut me with that thing—"  
  
"Shut up or I really will, man. Christ. Stop moving."  
  
Sam's careful but Dean's fidgeting and bitching, grumbling something about razor burn through his teeth.  
  
"Lift," Sam says, tips Dean's chin up with two fingers. "Don't. Move." It's hard to tell, like this, if he's pushing to hard, and it's kind of strained, Sam straddling his brother's lap and trying to concentrate on not slitting Dean's throat at the same time. "If you hadn't gotten yourself—"  
  
"Aren't you supposed to pity all orphaned puppies and cripples and whatever? Isn't that what you California yuppies do?" Dean lifts two heavily bandaged, useless hands to illustrate his point.  
  
"Temporary cripple," Sam corrects him seriously. "You don't count. You're gonna be fine in a few weeks. Now stop talking. You stay quiet and maybe I'll suck your dick when we're done."  
  
  
  
**Prompt: Sam has to wash Dean's hair.**  
  
"Man, you keep getting it in my eyes."  
  
"Jesus," Sam mutters, dragging his fingers over Dean's scalp. "What are you, four? And keep those bandages out of the water, Dean. Christ."  
  
"S'not as easy as—dude, _watch it_. The hair's attached, you know?"  
  
"You're fucking whiny, you know that? Here, close your eyes." Sam reaches up, tilts the showerhead. Lather, rinse, repeat. All that shit.  
  
Dean twists around to grumble blindly, "C'mon, Sammy, not all of us have as much hair as you. This can't be taking that long."  
  
"Can't be frustrating as you're trying to make out." Sam ticks off on his fingers: "Two of us. No clothes. One shower. You were good at math, right? Think maybe you're just too impatient?"  
  
"Well, I can't use my hands. Guess you're just gonna hafta—"  
  
Sam drops down to his knees and opens his mouth, and Dean's sentence ends there.  
  
  
  
**Prompt: Sam has a hair kink and plays with Dean's hair while he sleeps.**  
  
The painkillers make Dean sleep deeper than usual. He's got that hunter's way, normally. He wakes at the smallest sound or touch. A creaking floorboard two rooms away and he's halfway to his guns.  
  
Sam thinks idly that he doesn't mind Dean on drugs so much, 'specially if means he gets to do this. Curled around his brother, playing with Dean's hair, which Sam is sure Dean would never, ever allow if he were awake and had the use of his hands.  
  
The hospital stay and the few weeks since then, and Dean's hair grew, enough that there is something to play with. Sam wonders if he can convince Dean to keep it this way.  
  
He kisses the back of Dean's neck. His brother shifts a little, pushes back into him, but his eyes don't open and he doesn't wake.  
  
In the morning, Dean doesn't push Sam off right away.   
  
  
  
**Prompt: Sam has to dress Dean.**  
  
"Arms up," Sam says. He holds the tee-shirt up and open, ready to drop it over Dean's head.  
  
"Not that one. Hasn't been washed in ages. I want the grey one."  
  
"Dean, it's a _shirt_. Nothing's been washed in ages. You'll deal."  
  
Dean shakes his head. He's milking this for all it's worth. They both know it. "It's in my bag. Sammy, I'm an _invalid_. Least you could do is show some sympathy and some taste."  
  
"Swear to god, Dean, if you start singing—"  
  
"You don't appreciate me," Dean declares. "You don't love me anymore."  
  
"Christ." It must be the third time today.  
  
"I'm crippled and helpless and you don't love me anymore." Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He gives Sam a Look. Almost pulls it off without grinning.  
  
"So I'm gonna have to prove it to you again?"  
  
"Well, seeing as my pants are already off..."  
  
  
  
**Prompt: Incapacitated!Dean and handjobs.**  
  
Sam's smiling into the curve of Dean's throat. "It's almost like a bondage thing," he muses. "In a way."  
  
Dean quirks an eyebrow and pushes his hips forward a little, a sort of reminder. In case Sam's forgotten. "Why Sammy," he says, "I had no idea. We're gonna have to get you some fuzzy handcuffs. Or something."  
  
"Fuck you," Sam says mildly. "I just mean that you can't really. You can't touch me, but I can touch you."  
  
"I could suck your dick if I didn't have to hold you down. Eager little bitch that you are."  
  
Sam laughs aloud, and he shakes his head. "I'll take care of us." He kisses Dean's shoulder absently. "I got it. Relax."  
  
He takes them both in one hand, rubbing their cocks together. Sam keeps it slow and steady, the way Dean never lets him when he's got a real say in the matter, even if _slow_ never lasts too long anyway.  
  
Sam lets his thumb slide over the head of Dean's cock, playing with the slit and the wetness there. "Fuck," Dean hisses, and his head drops back against the pillow. He sucks in the air through his teeth. "Sammy. Shit, _Sam_."  
  
When he comes, it's all over both of them, and Sam collapses on top of him barely a moment later.  
  
"Dude. Get offa me." Dean shoves half-heartedly with one elbow, but it's no good. Sam isn't moving.   
  
He's not idealistic enough to believe Sam will get up before morning, anyway.  
 


End file.
